


Surrender

by Kaicielia



Series: Cheynne's Legacy [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Love, Loyalty, Married Couple, Self-Harm, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 07:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3887680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaicielia/pseuds/Kaicielia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a slave Cheynne had learned little about relationships. She married because she understood it to be the logical, accepted next step of her 'normal' life. She quickly learns that a little forethought could have saved her a little grief; and a lot of damage to her quarters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to write useless strings of day-to-day life, and occasionally a stretch makes a great short story.

Cheynne never knew what to think of the outbursts. It wasn’t like she had any experience dealing with men in a consensual relationship; previously she had been a slave, doing what she was told under pain of beating or death – and she had suffered through many beatings. Andronikos’ claims of love and commitment, “We orbit each other,” played nice to the ears but at the same time made her uncomfortable. Could she trust his words or was he just paying lip-service to the idea in exchange for sharing her bed?

They were like two sides of the same coin; all fire and passion. When things were going well the fire was warm and welcoming. When things were going badly, however, the witty jokes and snappy retorts turned into insults and affronts; the amazing sex turned into hostile stares and silent treatments. She responded in kind when confronted with his negativity and he suffered the same personality flaw, so that the fire of one fed that of the other until it erupted into something neither of them could control.

He always returned, however. Not with apologies and deference, which she wouldn’t trust anyway, nor with gifts to buy her affection like the holo commercials suggested. He would just return, after time had tamped their fires, and they would briefly embrace and move on.

They were on Dromund Kaas on official Council business when the storm hit. Cheynne had never felt comfortable on the planet and so stayed in her cabin on ship while availing the crew the luxury quarters supplied to her by the Dark Council. It gave her and Andronikos some time without the crew and the crew some time away from them, which they were very grateful for if it happened to be one of those times. 

The planet was perpetually grey and dreary and it rained nearly every day, so it was not uncommon for larger storms to last several days. This one was dubbed a ‘storm of the century,’ although there had been 3 named so in the last hundred years, and it caused all business to stand still. The Council meeting was canceled, all taxis were out of service and no ships were allowed to travel to or from the spaceport for fear they’d lose control and crash into the city. 

Cheynne and Andronikos spent the first day in bed ignoring the world and focusing on each other and were grateful for the respite. The next day, however, the novelty of a day with nothing that had to be done had worn off. There were several things they wanted to do but couldn’t and their nerves were beginning to fray.

“Is there anything to eat here or do I have to go buy myself a meal in the spaceport?” Andronikos exited the galley and made a face as he bit into the biscuit he held. “All this crap’s gone bad.”

“That’s supposed to happen this trip, but the storm got in the way.” Cheynne replied.

“It shouldn’t have gotten this bad to begin with.” He turned back to the galley, throwing the biscuit away and spitting his mouthful into the sink. “I’m surprised we’ve been able to eat anything for days.”

“Making a meal is different than grabbing something to eat, which you would know if you ever took the time to do it.” Cheynne turned away from him and walked to the bridge, sick of listening to his complaints. She sat at one of the stations there and flipped the power on. A satellite map of the storm as it spun over the city popped up, little changed from the last time she had viewed it.

“What are you doing?” Andronikos asked her for the tenth time, his voice filled with annoyance, when he came onto the bridge and found her reading yet another weather report.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” she snapped at him. It seemed like he was questioning everything she did, as if she could do nothing on her own without someone supervising. “I’m checking the channels to find out when this damn storm will pass and we can finally leave.”

“Do you think it has changed since the last time you checked, just a few minutes ago? Do you really think staring at that monitor is going to help anything?”

She continued to read the report, ignoring the fact that he was right, it had not changed. 

Getting no response to his question he stormed out of the room, shouting, “Maybe we should invite the crew back for the show.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cheynne asked, rising from her seat and following. She could feel her temper rising but rather than cause her to control the emotion the realization only fed her anger further.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that they’re lucky they get to spend time off this bucket, eating at the cafeteria and going to the shows. I don’t know what your problem with this place is, but sitting here while the others sit in the lap of luxury is getting a little old.” He stalked back to the galley, Cheynne fast on his heels.

“So suddenly living on a ship isn’t good enough for the pirate? Or is it just my ship you have a problem with?” She stood in the doorway of the galley, arms crossed as she watched him.

He just sniffed and shook his head, opening and slamming compartment doors.

After watching him for a minute, she asked, “What are you looking for?”

“A bottle,” he answered without hesitation, then added, “anything to deal with this nagging headache that won’t leave me alone.” He turned to her and glared for a second before shoving by and heading toward the hatch.

“I think you drank it all last time you decided you couldn’t handle your life.” She watched as he walked away and when he began opening the hatch, asked, “Where are you going now?”

“There has to be some place to drink that doesn’t require me to head out into the storm.” Then he left, not bothering to close the hatch behind him.

She closed the hatch and walked to her cabin, dropping into bed. It had been two days now they’d been stuck on this godforsaken planet, two days cooped up with nowhere to run to; nothing to break the monotony of the grey ship, grey skies and ever present rain, wind and thunder. 

She had been raised as a slave on the planet, bought and sold from one master to the next because no one could deal with her for any length of time. She was surprised she’d survived to adulthood and remembered wishing she would die on many occasions. But she had survived, and when her connection to the force was discovered she was thrown into training to become a Sith or die, which honestly wasn’t much better.

She hated the place; hated everything about it. She hated the endless grey skies, she hated her obligations to the Dark Council and she hated the Imperial politics that were always the news of the day. She even hated those few days when the clouds would break and allow the sun to shine through; nothing but reminders of what she could never maintain as there was inevitably another storm cloud on the horizon to take the sun away.

After several hours she got out of bed, accepting that she wouldn’t be sleeping that night, and wandered around the ship. The crew quarters pulled her thoughts from darkness momentarily as she gazed on the various small decorations Ashara had set up. It wasn’t much; a green vase with fake blue and yellow flowers, a printed rug so old the pattern was unrecognizable and a small landscape photo from her home planet on the wall next to her bunk. Like those few sunny days the moment was short lived, however, as a loud crack of thunder reminded her of her dark mood.

She headed to the bridge then to check on the progress of the storm. Forecasters were predicting that it wouldn’t end for another four days but it did appear to be weakening; they might be able to fly the ship out the next day. She watched the radar map, dominated by angry purples and reds, as the storm continued to rotate.

She heard the hatch open when Andronikos returned to the ship, well past midhour. He passed the bridge with heavy steps but did not stumble, indicating he wasn’t as intoxicated as she’d expected him to be, but he carried several bottles with him. When he’d secured the bottles in the galley he returned to the bridge.

“I don’t know what you think you can accomplish by staring at monitors,” he said to her, his voice dripping with venom. “It’s not like the storm is going to pass any faster simply because you’re watching it; or do your force powers allow you to control that, too?”

She could feel her rage rise again, and added to the frustration and lack of sleep it caused tears to ring her eyes. She kept her back to him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her, and after several minutes of silence he finally left the bridge, falling into a bed in the crew quarters to sleep off his drunk.

 

Cheynne decided that Andronikos was right, she would accomplish nothing by staring at monitors, and found ways to keep herself busy for the rest of the night. By the time he woke, late morning by local reckoning, she had cleaned the intake vents on the atmosphere processor, replaced every filter and power node that looked as if it would need replacing any time soon and managed to put together an impressive meal for herself from the scraps that were left in the galley. While she worked she heard the intensity of the storm increase yet again and avoided looking at the weather map.

Andronikos came into the galley as she ate her meal. “Oh, great, so I suppose there’s nothing left for me.” He began again opening and slamming compartment doors, complaining of the lack of food in the empty ones and the quality of the food in those that weren’t empty. Finally he resorted to opening one of the bottles he had brought on board. “Looks like it’s a liquid breakfast for me.”

Cheynne pushed what was left of her meal away as she felt the food that she had already eaten turn uncomfortably in her stomach. She walked to the washroom and vomited into the sink, watching as it slipped with the running water down the drain. She understood that emotion was clouding her reason but she was used to dealing with it in battle; without an enemy to sink her blade into she quickly lost control.

Andronikos was just leaving the galley when she made her way again to the bridge to check on the weather.

“That wasn’t half bad,” he said to her, having finished her meal and realizing his outburst had been unfair.

She ignored him, turning her back on him as she walked to the bridge.

“Hey,” he called to her.

She continued to walk, not knowing or caring what he had to say. Enough had already been said, in her estimation, and she needed to hear no more of it. She sat in a seat and pulled up a weather map, distressed by the purple and red mass that continued to circle the city. The forecasters not only lamented that they were incorrect about the storm weakening, but now predicted that it would continue to strengthen throughout the day. She dropped her head into her hands and again blinked away the tears that sprung to her eyes.

“Still going strong?” Andronikos asked from behind her.

“Yes,” she screamed, reaching the end of her temper. “In fact, it’s only getting worse!”

“I was just asking a question,” he defended himself, his own anger rising with his voice.

“The same damn question you’ve been asking for two days!” She turned on him then, rising and closing the short distance between them. “No, I do not think staring at the map will make the storm end! Do you think your constant questions are helping?”

He backed up slightly, surprised at the strength of her anger as she confronted him. “Well what am I supposed to do, sit and watch you stare?”

“So now it’s my job to entertain you?” She threw her head back and laughed mockingly at him. “Do whatever-the-hell you want and don’t bother waiting around for me!”

“Fine!” he responded, his voice now matching hers, and turned to the crew quarters.

Cheynne paced the common area, unsure what to do with the intensity of the rage that boiled over. More than anything she wanted to fight. She wanted to direct an attack at him, at anyone really, and feel the return attacks bruise her skin and cut her flesh. She wanted to scream and call lightening down from the sky to end this.

He emerged again with a bag slung over his shoulder and marched to the hatch. “Goodbye Sith.”

“Where are you going now?” The pitch of her voice rose painfully.

“What do you care?” he answered, not bothering to look at her as he did. His voice had lost some of its force and she struggled to hear him over the rush of blood in her ears. “I’m doing what I want to do, without bothering you. Enjoy your monitors.” The hatch opened and he walked out.

Black spots swam in her vision. Was this it? Was he leaving for good? She shouldn’t be surprised, this was the story of her life, but this time she had hoped…. 

She went to her cabin and closed the door, leaning back against it as she tried unsuccessfully to control her breathing. She saw her bed, where he had held her, caressed her, and tore the mattress from it. She ripped the fabric of the blankets, the sheets, the pillows and the mattress itself, tufts of stuffing falling around her as she did. When she had a section of the mattress small enough she swung it, clearing her end table of the few items it held and further scattering the white fluff.

She raged for an hour or two or ten; the concept of time escaped her. Everything she could pick up she threw against a wall. Several things that were bolted down she managed to pry loose and favor with the same treatment. She punched the screen of the computer console, shattering it, for mocking her with its glow. She pried open the control panel and tore out handfuls of wires and chips, throwing them to the floor where she ground them until they were unrecognizable. She swung the end table, the only piece of furniture that wasn’t bolted to the floor, leaving dents in the door and the walls around her.

When her fire finally started to wane she sat on the floor with her back in the far corner and continued to brood. She was covered with bruises and bled from several small wounds. She needed to cry but refused to show such weakness even here, locked away and alone in her own cabin. Finally darkness closed over her mind.

 

Sometime later there was a knock at her door. She ignored it, lost in her own world of pain and despair, but it wouldn’t stop. She heard the gears protest as they tried to open, having been damaged in her tantrum, and then a loud thud as someone pounded on the door from the other side. There was silence for a time, then the sound of metal on metal as tools were used to pry it open.

“What are you,” Andronikos began to ask, but he froze as he surveyed the damage in the room. He didn’t see Cheynne hiding back in the corner at first glance and flinched when she jumped up.

“What do you want?” She rushed him and began shoving him out the door.

“I…Wait, are you OK?”

He tried grabbing at her hands, to find out where she was bleeding from and how badly she was injured, but she alternately pulled them away and placed them on his chest, pushing him toward the door.

“What do you care? You left. Go!”

He swept her hands aside and grasped her wrists, so she lowered her shoulder and slammed into him. The breath was forced out of him and he stumbled a step before righting himself and again holding her arms.

Her will to fight having fled over the hours, she gave up quickly and dropped to her knees. She pushed his hands away as he tried to lift her to a standing position but, realizing that the bed had no comfort to offer, he gave up and knelt down next to her instead.

“I talked to the crew, they’ll be back tomorrow.” His voice was calm, a stark contrast to her frenzied emotions. “Taxis are up and running, but I figured we could use another day.”

“Why did you come back,” she asked quietly.

“You already know the answer to that.”

This time when the tears came she couldn’t stop them. She dropped her head and cried silently, the shaking of her shoulders the only outward indication.

Andronikos sat back against the door jamb and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into his chest, letting the stress and anger drain from her body. They sat this way for many silent minutes as the tears continued to flow.

When the deluge slowed and Cheynne seriously considered falling asleep right there, he spoke again. “I figured you already knew; the only way you’re getting rid of me now is to kill me.” There was a laugh in his voice.

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never…. It’s so hard.” She sat back to look at him.

“It’ll get easier, as we get to know each other better.” He looked around the room and smiled. “For instance, I’ll now remind you that I always come back. I don’t think we can afford to do this very often.”

She smiled weakly back at him. “The droid can clean up the mess, and replacing the mattress and bedding should be easy enough.”

“I get to pick it out this time.” His eyebrows screwed up in mock annoyance. “You have no sense of style.”

“I didn’t pick out anything,” she said as she looked at the ship around her. “I just kept what came with the ship.”

“You didn’t get any of this yourself?” He picked up some scraps of bedding, then when she shook her head, “You gotta’ make it your own place when you spend so much time on a ship. What do you do with all the money?”

“Supplies, repairs, weapons,” she answered. When he continued to stare she added, “and an emergency fund.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she kept a rather inflated fund to buy her own freedom in case she was ever again enslaved.

“Well we need to restock the galley anyway; we can pick out some stuff then. After all, any temper tantrum of yours qualifies as an emergency.” He ran a finger across her forehead, pushing back errant locks of hair. “First though, we need to clean you up.”

“We?” she asked as she rose to stand. “I can clean myself up, thank you.” She began walking toward the shower room, smiling suggestively at him over her shoulder as she did.

“Aw, I’m pretty sure I bear some responsibility for this mess,” he said as he rose and hurried to catch up with her. “I should help.”


End file.
